Out there

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First thing on Friday morning I took a turn down to the foreshore. A full moon hung over the salt marsh like an unplucked peach, delivering in its gilded gleam a frost as sharp and clear as a godwit’s eye — which was precisely what I found myself staring at as soon as the dawn mist lifted off the rime-crusted mud. I love checking out the mudflats at this time of the year; there are always waders and wildfowl to spy, a heron or two lifting off and cursing like regular bargees at being disturbed, and sometimes, most exciting of